Pulling Back the Blinds
by Nemaline
Summary: A small story arc about the start and maintenance of a relationship. Enjoy.
1. The Blinders Come Off

It happened rather quickly, Spock and Leonard entering into their relationship. Leonard really hadn't been lying when he said he'd liked the fella.

It happened like this: after a month on the Enterprise, Nyota and Spock had known that any more romanticism between them wasn't meant to be. Spock had known this because he was not getting a sense of tension from Nyota. Without this tension he could not help but see a lack of forward progress available between them. Nyota had this known because she couldn't help but see Spock's restlessness as the dissatisfaction it was. In short, neither of them was what the other was looking for in a romantic sense.

Spock, however, made a great acquaintance for Nyota—who else would be willing to review a twenty page article about antenna gestures between andorian sibling of the ages seven to fifteen for her the day before it was due for publication, and at one in the morning with little more than a "your writing style is engaging and is more than a suitable replacement for meditation, I would be pleased to be of aid."

Nyota, in turn, did her best to be a great friend back—the stableness of their relationship apparently meant that Spock thought she was "a much needed support structure and would always hold a unique standing" in his life. He'd, thankfully, had the foresight to tell her this over a private meal in his quarters, handmade with as many traditional vulcan ingredients as were available given the new circumstances of Vulcan. They slipped from being one type of family—the couple without children—to another type of family as simply as that.

What Nyota had done for Spock was notice what he'd said he needed from her—somebody who not only supported him, both spiritually and physically, but who also challenged him to the point of maintaining a dialectical thesis, antitheses, and synthesis relationship—and notice who was giving him these things. And she'd made her move then.

* * *

Nyota walked past Chapel, a small look assuring her fast friend that she was alright, towards the back of the infirmary, paused, and took a deep breath "Doctor McCoy, I need to talk to you."

McCoy jumped, bumping his head against the cupboards above him, and glanced with a beet like face at the dated time display wrapped round his wrist. "Yeah, that's fine, I got off shift 'bout half-hour ago." He glanced up then, colour suddenly drained from his checks, "It's nothing serious, right?"

Nyota widened her smile, speaking with a measured slowness, "It's nothing harmful, no, but it's certainly important. And private" She nodded her head at his office door, the clear glass reflecting the mechanical tools behind her into view.

"Yeah, sure, follow me." McCoy walked the five steps to his office, where he had to key in his passcode twice, being that he wasn't supposed to still be working. Inside the room he set himself behind the maple desk, and pulled out an unlabelled bottle, after which he peeked at his guest before continuing on to lift out two glasses. Then he motioned her in. "Would you like one?"

Nyota, sitting down, couldn't stop the upturn of her lips. "No thanks, but you might want both." Before McCoy could do more than open his mouth in question, she continued with the killing blow, "Spock likes you."

"Huh?" A paused followed, then, the sound of syrup gold liquid splashing into a glass. A swallow.

Nyota leaned in, again before he could recover. "Spock likes you _back_." She stayed still, waiting until McCoy looked her in the eyes, before leaning back into the cushioning of her seat.

McCoy let out a chuckle, "Huh," he scratched slightly behind his ear, as though he could feel it was heating up and was trying to do something about it "I was about to ask if it was true." His blush rises, "Not that, I mean I didn't know—I was just going to ask if you two had really called it quits. Uh . . ." McCoy poured into the second glass and lifting it off his desk to hang in the air between the both of them, "Are you sure?"

Nyota nodded, arms relaxed and resting to either side of her. "I'm fine." McCoy, permission granted, swung his arm towards his mouth and swallowed. "And yes, we really called it quits, despite Spock needing someone just about now." She held eye contact before rising from her throne-like chair after some seconds, knowing the rest would work out.

* * *

And it had worked out—McCoy had waited until the next day to go see Spock, not sure the other didn't in fact know enough about human culture to _not _appreciate alcohol on someone's breath alongside a love confession.


	2. Blinded by Love

It didn't happen right away, their relationship becoming something they both felt at home in. But when it happened, it did so in that way that daily events oft do; after enough repetition, they finally settle into place as though they've always been that way.

It happened like this: Leonard and Spock, both preferring to assure themselves some that the basic attraction they had for each other would hold over the long term, had not exactly exclaimed their devotion over the comm. system. They both knew that settling into something for good meant it had more of an impact should it not be what you expect. Spock did not bring Leonard chocolates—when he went to meet Leonard, it was always after the man's shift in the infirmary and while he was dating and reorganizing hypos with large labelled stickers. Food was prohibited—and so Spock did not bring Leonard chocolates. Leonard didn't smother Spock with flowers: when he went to meet Spock, it was always to draw him out of the labs, and labs cannot be contaminated by airborne pollen—or rather they very _very _easily can be. And, the one time he'd tried bringing Spock flowers to decorate his quarters with had not gone over in the traditional manner—

"Leonard," Spock stepped to the side of his doorway upon seeing the other, and Leonard took the invitation to enter, "what is the purpose of the rhododendrons. Have I not been informed of yet another celebratory holiday for couples?"

Leonard reddened at the reminder of their first valentines. "Nah, nothing like that. These are just to say that I appreciate you. Like that tea you gave me."

Spock took the proffered bouquet, holding it out from his body while he moved further from Leonard to find where he could place them. "Thank you," Spock stopped glancing for where to put it—a problem had occurred to him, "however, I have no vase in which to place them."

"I can go get you one, if you'd like." Leonard shrugged with shoulders drawn slightly in, "Sorry for not thinking about that sooner."

Spock nodded once in acknowledgment before giving his response. "I would much like a vase—" Leonard started to move back to within the sensor range, ready to spring to the necessary action, but Spock continues, "—so as to preserve the amount of life that they have left."

Leonard shuffled back into the room proper. "That ain't sound so good, you thinking about them dying already." He held still in waiting for Spock to say something. Spock's mouth tightened in a manner Leonard had since become familiar with while in private, in that way he had of showing that he did not appreciate Leonard waking up later than him and then failing to reorganize the blankets to militant precision after his use. Knowing Spock wouldn't express his discomfort if he thought it would offend, more demure with personal than political pronouncements, Leonard prompted "Come on now, speak up."

Spock straightened his shoulders and held the roses back out; Leonard accepted them without comment. "Very well. I am of the opinion that you should appreciate someone in a manner which is consistent with said person's beliefs. I see no cause for wastefulness of any organic life."

Leonard upturned one corner of his mouth. "Well, I suppose I'd best get that vase and let them live their final moments comfortably."

"Indeed. Thank you, Leonard." Spock paused and added, "Also, thank you for not discarding my tea. It may yet be pleasing to guests which you will have over."

Leonard, already turned around, laughed. "Yep, ghod knows I won't be touching that stuff in this lifetime."

—so he didn't bring Spock flowers. They weren't interesting enough to coax him out of the lab anyway unless they could injure him somehow.

After than night, four months into their relationship, Spock and Leonard seemed to mesh more naturally: Spock learned to stay for the whole night when it was him who was removed from his domicile. He learned how to bring parts of his domicile into the others as well, by replicating an extra cover for the cot for when he was to be sleeping, or by adding in five variations of tofu to the personal replicator.

And Leonard learned how to 'read your family friendly alien' by shifts in facial expression. Minimally narrowed eyelids meant he was relaxed, that the smile not on his face was nonetheless reaching his eyes. A perfect military stand in informal situations meant that he should play defense against any Ensigns who showed up most commonly in his sickbay with avoidable injuries. And a small _humff _without that same military posture meant he was sublimely amused.

And, after that night, that goddamn awful valentine's day where Leonard had literally prostrated himself with more roses than what comes in a single bouquet was erased from both their memories—although, roses remained avoid, the history on them being two against and zero for.


	3. Pulling Back the Blinds

After Spock and Leonard settled into a harmony with each other, they remained private about their relationship. McCoy may have expected the other to come to the infirmary without as much of a fuss, and Spock in turn may have expected to granted leeway in not doing so; as such the only visible display of their affinity for one-and-other were debates ranging from Free Will vs. Determinism to Newtonian vs. Quantum mechanic importance, with the most vicious being Aid vs. Prime Directive. Nyota, of course, knew that they were successfully together—and she had said as much to Montgomery Scott to spark his interest in pursuing her, because she and Spock had not spread the information of their own separation. Captain James T. Kirk, frequent visitor of both men's quarters and a neighbor to Spock's homestead, however, did not know the details of this arrangement.

Until it happened, of course, that he did.

* * *

McCoy meandered in to Spock's quarters, recognized intimately by the bio-sensors. "Hun, you have any plans tonight?" He plopped himself onto the synthetic leather couch, waiting for the water in the washroom to stop running before repeating his question, voice raised to reach through the walls. At receiving no reply on his second attempt, Leonard paced up to the thin door which gleamed as though wetted by the water on its insides.

He knocked against the metal panel, his knuckles pounding against their mirrored ones, sound reverberating with a ping in the hull of the ship. Sure that he had knocked loud and long enough to garner the others attention, he casually drawled, "I said, wanna have a date night?"

A slight thump sounded, as though a tube of toothpaste had landed on the tiles, making McCoy frown. "Spock, are you fine in there?" His heart rate sped at the continuing lack of an answer, and the image of the burned skin he'd only today had to scrape off a poor ensigns hand swam to the forefront of his mind. "Okay, I'm coming in." With those words McCoy pressed his hand against the door controls, appendages scrambling to the side to press it as he couldn't turn his eyes away from what he was expecting to find.

The door slid open none other than Jim, flushed red and staring wide eyed at him, towel held together by hand.

". . . Jim."

"Bones."

Suddenly acquiring a dry throat, McCoy coughed, head turning downwards into his hand. "I think I'm catching something, so I'll, uh, just leave you to it."

From the side of his eye McCoy saw Jim shake his head slowly side-to-side. "_Nooo_. No. I'm done." His mouth hung open, "What was that about dating?"

McCoy licked his lips, trying to give them some type of liquid courage from which to speak. "Spock—Spock and I. That is, me and Spock are . . ."

Jim bunched up the portion of the towel in his right hand and tucked the ball into that side under his left. Newly freed, his hands hung limply down from his shoulders. "You and Spock are dating?" McCoy gulped, catching reflected from his view of the floor the imagine of Jim's hand fumbling around for purchase on nothing. He nodded once. "Oh. Okay." Jim's hand pressed against the door controls on his side, sliding it shut.

҉

McCoy lied suspended on the couch, the fabric sticking to his skin and sucking him in. The large metallic door to Spock's quarters propelled open and yet he didn't move. In monotone he said to the owner of the room he was in, "You're late."

"I had thought to work a double shift tonight, allowing me to help with the backlog the labs are undergoing." Spock walked up to the couch and hovered above McCoy, seemingly shimmering with the wetness the other was viewing him through.

"That's nice."

Spock encouraged McCoy's legs to move to occupy only one side of the small seating by using his hands to lift them up and turn the other around with, then set them to rest on the floor. He proceeded to place himself next to his partner. "I would have arrived sooner had the captain not recently forestalled me with a dinner request." Spock settled in then to waited, having stolen from Nyota that tigress—in his case panther—like method of waiting for his prey to ware itself out before striking.

"I didn't mean to let it slip."

Spock raised his brow then, and bent down at his waist to again reach McCoy's calves. Picking them up, he returned McCoy to his original position, only this time draped partially across him. "I was not aware you had physically injured yourself—if so Jim was negligent in explaining to me the situation. He seemed shocked but mostly unconcerned, which I am sure would not be the case were he worried for your health."

McCoy started kicking his feet then, pressing them slightly at the supportive weight under them. After a few moments, in which he was allowed to do as he pleased, he asked, "Ya sure?"

"Yes _Le_nard." Spock spoke, the vulcan he had switched to translating in delay to the universal translator behind McCoy's ear. McCoy shifted up slightly to scratch at the tingling always—psychosomatic, he knew—caused when Spock did this around him. "Your shield-brother will be here shortly. All will be fine."

McCoy swatted once at his own ear, and used his feet pushed up against Spock to sit himself straight. "Jesus. It ain't even five yet." McCoy stood, overcompensating for lowered blood pressure as he adjusted for the new vertical position and stumbling over Spock's booted feet. "You couldn't have talked him into pushing it off?" McCoy strode to the kitchenette. He called from across the living space, "And how about you come over here and help me cook, instead of treating me like an invalid."

Spock rose, "Agreed," he started moving, "now that you no longer are acting like one."


End file.
